


Oh My God, It was Sonnet 18

by Sk3tch



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Asbestos, Feels, Fluff, M/M, Requited Love, Sentimental demon boyfriend, Slapped in the face with realization, The feels are in a general sense, Wallpaper, Will make you have feelings about your bookmarks-Fair Warning, they're not about the asbestos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-04
Updated: 2020-05-04
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:40:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23993902
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sk3tch/pseuds/Sk3tch
Summary: Sentimental (sen·ti·men·tal)adjective1. Of or prompted by feelings of tenderness, sadness, or nostalgia."Crowley held a sentimental attachment to the Angel and everything he associated himself with, since the beginning"Or, the one where a scrap of old wallpaper gives Aziraphale a realization about Crowley, and the demon's sentiment towards him.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 20
Kudos: 61
Collections: Name That Author Round Two





	Oh My God, It was Sonnet 18

“Yeah, well,” he sniffed, "I hated that wallpaper, anyway.” 

Crowley had said that 20 years ago, Aziraphale recalled, deeming it hardly worth a second thought at the time. 

Except… maybe it had been.

Due to unforeseen circumstances, the bookshop had undergone construction the human way in 1999. Asbestos removal, being the main thing Aziraphale had to do. 

Well, not him personally, but somebody. Truthfully, he would have just snapped his fingers and be done with it, but building inspectors were surprisingly as dogged as Heaven’s bureaucracy, and Aziraphale didn’t dare cross either. He had been doing a few too many ‘frivolous’ miracles as it was, so instead, he’d waded through months of migraine-inducing disarray until things were again tip-top .

Near the project’s completion, Crowley had made an unexpected appearance, and after seeing all the changes, commented on the wallpaper, of all things.

“You changed it. S’not so,” he hummed, waving a hand, “somber.” 

“I thought, I might try something more inviting.”

Crowley had scowled, claimed he’d never liked it, and then launched into why he was there. At the time, Aziraphale had been miffed, but ultimately let it go. Crowley was just being Crowley, being disagreeable on purpose just to ruffle Aziraphale’s feathers. 

The original dark wallpaper with it’s pattern reminiscent of scales, had been undeniably self-indulgent anyway. The fact Crowley had never brought it up before, other than raising a brow... unimportant. It was what it was, and he’d let it go.

Time passed, and Aziraphale had mostly forgotten the exchange. Until now.

Now... Aziraphale wondered how he had missed how sentimentally invested his demon was. 

With him.

He looked down again at the book of sonnets he’d spied on Crowley’s shelf. Having picked it up and about to call out how he had been looking for this book of his since the 60’s, it fell open in his hands to reveal a familiar scrap of patterned paper within, and the comment died on his tongue.

Wordlessly he traced over the page marker, mindful of the delicate spots where it was worn soft from being handled often. His fingers trailed to a crimson tassel attached to one end, and Aziraphale staggered under the swells of centuries-old love imprinted onto the object, not just from its time spent adorning the walls of an Angel’s bookshop.

Overwhelmed, Aziraphale closed the book, set it back on the shelf, and sank onto the sofa. Now that he was aware, though, he could feel the waves of love it filled the room with. He had assumed when visiting before, that feeling had been from himself, subconsciously projecting everything he could never say, into the space. 

How wrong he’d been.

“Angel,” a voice came from his left, and Aziraphale turned to see Crowley looking at him quizzically, “d’you know you’re glowing right now? More than usual.” The angel in question blinked, suddenly standing in front of Crowley without remembering getting up.

“Sentiment without action is the ruin of the soul,” he quoted sadly, “Oh, _Crowley_.”

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, so I guess this is going to be my first Good Omens fic posted, huh? Welp, guess I'm in the fandom now. Also, big THANK YOU to [BisasterDi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bisasterdi/pseuds/bisasterdi) for the surprise Graphic!! (i will add it once I figure out how to do thattt) Please know It made my dayyyy! Find me on Tumblr if you wanna chat! :)


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